


The Last Thing of the Evening and First of the Morning

by mgsmurf



Series: Jaime/Brienne missing cannon scenes [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Missing Scene, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-22 06:52:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7424422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mgsmurf/pseuds/mgsmurf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scenes from Season 2 and 3. </p><p>As Jaime and Brienne make their way to King's Landing they are often the first and last thing of the day that they see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The second day Jaime Lannister the Kingslayer had laid beside Brienne he had been her captive, on their way to return him in exchange for Lady Catelyn's daughters. They had stopped well after nightfall and rose again at first light. She had tied the rope around his shackles and then wound tight around his legs. She figured he wasn't going to be rolling far away in the little sleep she'd get. He'd dropped into deep sleep quickly. She'd known it was deep from the heavy snores he soon gave and the way his face slacked into a peaceful expression. 

She'd woke at first light to see him still prone, head turned, staring intently at her. She scowled at him. “We need to get up. There's hard tack.”

“Do you think I wouldn't be up already if I could?” He furrowed his brow. 

She got up herself and then tugged him to his feet, not gently. He stumbled into her. She undid the elaborate knots until the rope hung between them.

“We need to get moving.” She looked around the thin woods they'd stayed in. Only the wind rustling and birds chirping echoed back. 

“Think I could have a piss first at least?” He cocked his head, gave a half smile. 

She sighed and followed him to a nearby tree. She keep her gaze on him as he untied his laces. He'd already made the smart comment about her not even letting him piss out of her eyesight. So, he shrugged and took out his cock to empty his bladder. 

“Turn around,” she'd said when he'd finished. 

“You get privacy.” Although he did as asked. “Do I?” 

Brienne pulled down her pants and squatted. 

“What happens when I need to take a shit?” he asked. “Will you watch me do that too?” He looked to the side, not over his shoulder at her. 

Brienne finished and pulled back up her pants. Truth was she did not at all want to watch him shit, and knew she would have to look away for that, trust he would not try to use it to escape. She sighed and walked beside him. 

“Come,” he said, “I hear we've a long day of... walking ahead.” He didn't wait for her, just began walking himself. 

Brienne pulled two pieces of hard tack from her bags. She strolled to catch up with him and handed him one. “Here.”

He gave a half frown, but took the offered food and ate it. 

She keep astride of him, eating her own breakfast. “What were you looking at earlier? When you awoke?” Dew covered the ankle high grass they tramped through. Dawn flickered off the drops of it ahead on the horizon.

He glanced at her. “Your face.” She frowned at him. She had been informed well enough how ugly her face was. “It was... pretty actually, while you slept.”

Brienne snorted “We both know my face is not pretty.” She kept her eyes on the trees around the field they walked through. Middle of nowhere, there should be no trouble. 

“Well, prettier.” He paused and looked over at her. His brow furrowed. “I think it's the lack of that scowl always on her face.”

“My face does not have a scowl.”

“See, right there.” He pointed. “You face is much prettier without it.”

“Keep walking.” She moved ahead and he quickly caught up and passed her. She needed that scowl, what defense would she have against the world without it? “What do you know about merely pretty faces anyway?”

“True.” He glanced over his shoulder and chuckled. “Lannisters are not merely pretty. We're gorgeous.”

He had something there, dirty, stinky and thinned from a year in captivity, the Kingslayer was still a gorgeous man. “Like your sister?” she said, perhaps to goad him. 

He paused, looked over his shoulder. “My sister,” he said, looking forward again, “is the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen.”

Sounds like a man in love, she thought, but kept to herself. Kingslayer, oathbreaker and a deviant at that. 

#

The next morning, Brienne was the one who had awoken first. She relieved her bladder in private and then sat down before the Kingslayer and watched him as she ate more hard tack for breakfast. She could do for some regular food, really anything but hard tack. 

There was an innocence in the Kingslayer's face as he slept. Partly it made him look more boyish. But the wear of the last year showed more asleep, cuts and gashes to his face, smoothed lines of age, a bit of gray at his temples. She wondered how much he might have aged while captive. 

The Kingslayer shifted, snorted and then opened his eyes, a deep blue in the dawn light. He said nothing, just stared up at her. Him silent, that was something different. Seemed the man couldn't exist without his mouth open and filling the air with words, so many of them hurtful. Brienne took a bite of her hard tack, stared back. She wondered when he'd finally break and start talking, ask at least to get up. 

He rolled onto his side and somehow managed to partly prop himself on an elbow. It almost looked like he lounged despite being tied up enough he couldn't even sit himself up. How did he make that look so casual? His easy manner fascinated her, and she wondered how much was stupid arrogance. 

Brienne gave a snort of exasperation of another day spent with his constant needling words. The Kingslayer scoffed in reply. She frowned, he smiled. She sighed and shook her head, he chuckled. 

“Fine, Kingslayer, up with you.” Brienne rose to her feet and then tugged him up as well. He stood silent as she untied him. His eyes studied her as she straightened up, his head cocked and brow furrowed. She thought to comment on his silence, but didn't want to goad him into speaking, in case he would not stop. 

So she gathered her few things, let him piss, and they began to walk side by side, in silence. Finally she could resist not speaking no longer. “Lost your voice, Kingslayer?”

“You're good with a sword,” he said. He glanced to her at his side. “Strong, and quicker than your size looks you'd be.” He knew that now from the events the other day. Taking more lives was not something that Brienne was proud of having to do. 

“Good, or good for a woman?” Brienne met his gaze. Most men were just amazed she knew anything of how to swing a sword. That and her defenses was what she usually used to win a fight. 

“Good.” He cocked his head and furrowed his brow again. “Sure you use the shock of fighting a woman to your advantage.”

Brienne did not answer, merely looked ahead and pulled hard tack from her bag. She handed it over to him. He ate in silence as the light of day brightened. Nothing was out in the wilderness they traveled. 

“Ever wonder what leads a person to this life?” Jaime asked. 

“What life?” Brienne frowned. 

“Swords, battles, death.” Jaime shrugged. 

“What led you here?” she asked. She knew little about his past, besides he was a Kingsguard, the most prestigious of the knights in the realm, and had been since a very young man, and had slain the Mad King with a sword through his back. 

“This life?” Jaime shrugged. “An ignorant sense of honor and nobility.”

Brienne scoffed. “You have neither honor nor nobility.”

Jaime shook his head. “No, but even I was once young and innocent.” She glanced again at him, tried to imagine this man who cared nothing of honor once being young enough to have done so. “Here though, wondering the Riverlands with you? Anger and lots of arrogance.” He shrugged. 

“Arrogance, besides dishonor, you seem to have in abundance, Kingslayer.” 

He chuckled. “In fine form this morning, Maid of Tarth.” She scowled at his words. “What brings you here? Stories of honorable knights surely.” He stated, didn't ask, and Brienne did not acknowledge with a reply. “Reality living up to the expectations?” 

He paused to look at her. Brienne kept walking and tugged him after her. “No,” he answered for her as he stumbled after. “There's nothing honorable about killing. Is that not most of what war is, maiming and killing?”

It was and he was completely right, but she would not voice that to him. Instead she trudged along pulling him behind. He chuckled once and then followed himself, silent for a time. 

#

The quiet of night fell around them. Brienne lay on the hard ground, armor still on, something she had gotten used to sleeping in this last week. Across the small fire, only ashes now, lay the Kingslayer bound for the night. 

“Should thank you for dinner,” the Kingslayer said. 

Brienne had found a rabbit during their travels today and cooked it up over the fire. Much better than the hard tack they'd subsisted on. “Not the fine feasts you have in King's Landing I'm sure.”

“Truthfully I'd eat about anything over more hard tack, anything.” She did not need to look at him to see the smile that would be on his lips. 

“I could save the rest of our hard tack for just me.” She tightened her lips and looked up through the branches above to the night sky, lit by a nearly full moon.

“And have me waste further away to nothing.” He scoffed. “How will I be worth exchanging for both Stark girls then?”

She frowned, something he could not see in the growing dark, as they both looked upwards. “You are just glad to be going home.”

“To King's Landing? Yes.” He sighed. 

“Will you keep the vow you made Lady Catelyn?” Oathbreaker, she thought in her head. 

“They would have taken my life that night.” Brienne heard him give a shrug against the ground. “Would I have not sworn anything to Lady Catelyn to escape that fate, to get back to King's Landing, to get back to... her.”

“Your sister?” Brienne scowled. She did not know if it was worse or not that the Kingslayer was a deviant on top of everything else. “So it is true about you and your sister? You bed her? You fathered her children?”

“Yes.” She heard the anger in his voice. “Are you judging me, wench?”

“Have you not done so of me every day since the night we met?” She frowned and turned to look over at him. 

Across the glowing embers he watched her, only his head turned. “I could tell you a story, Maid of Tarth, of a boy of eleven who finally realized he did not love his sister as a brother is supposed to. Of a childhood game of chase arousing him, and when I kissed my twin sister, my love, she let me. When I asked for more, she gave it to me. After that nothing else mattered. I love her, fully and completely. There is nothing I will not do for her, little I have not done for her.”

It was the kind of love any girl would wish for, the kind brave knights gave maidens in stories. The strength of his love was the kind Brienne hoped for and knew she would never have. “But, she is your sister,” Brienne whispered. 

“Yes.” He frowned. “And so she is merely my lover, not my wife. I have only stolen moments, hidden glances and quick fucking. My children do not have my name; they belonged to another man, not me. And the secret of it all is tearing the kingdoms apart, might destroy my family. Still I can not help but love her,” he whispered the last. 

Brienne noticed something in his eyes and it chilled her to the bone. Across the last of the fire's embers she saw murder in his dark eyes. Jaime Lannister was a dangerous man and she was currently the only thing between him and freedom. Yes, he was in bonds, and she had armor and a sword. But, he was still a dangerous man, even weakened by captivity, even in rags, even with no blade. And nothing in the world mattered more to him than to return to the woman that he loved, nothing and no one.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne's connection strengthens after their capture and time in Harrenhal.

They'd been with Locke's men three days. Brienne almost wished for the Kingslayer's smart mouth and joking manner. She saw none of it in the man sleeping fitfully against her now. The stink of his severed hand laid above his head was horrid, and she wondered if she would ever get her sense of smell back to rights again. She could still hear his blood curdling scream after the thwack of the sword which had cleaved his hand off. 

Locke's men, a ruthless, deadly and barely held together band, laughed off in the darkness of the night. They had thought as a joke to tie Brienne and Jaime up tonight laid facing each other. 'For the Kingslayer had so wished to at least lie on the ground,' they'd said laughing.

Brienne had tested the ropes but there was little room for movement. Their thighs and hips were flush against each other. Her hands tied wrapped around Jaime's back, the stub of his right arm was at his belly between them and his remaining hand crammed in the narrow shape between their chests. She felt his jagged breath against her own chest, could feel the fever coming off of him. 

He jolted, tugging at the bonds, and his eyes lazily opened and then focused. “Still here?” he asked. 

“Where would I have gone?” Her lips tightened. He blinked, almost smiled. “Are you still here?” she asked. 

“Not dead yet.” He nodded his head slower than his words. Sweat beaded on his clammy skin, red tinted his eyes. 

“Good.” 

He shivered, and Brienne found her hands smoothing his back. “You owe me no kindness,” he said. 

“I know.” She nodded. She had thought him a horrible men, but he was better than these men. While she could not imagine what evil he had done, she doubted he took as much mirth in it, or did it as carelessly. “How many more days to Harrenhall do you think?”

“You assume we'll meet someone with any sense of honor there.” He scowled. “A few more days, at least.”

Perhaps only a few more days and the Kingslayer will not die of infection, the men will not grow bored enough to finally venture to rape her. Perhaps that would be soon enough. She had to hope whoever was in charge of these men was better, maybe just a Jaime Lannister style of evil. She had never met Bolton who they carried banners for, perhaps Jaime knew more about the man, had reason to think things will be no better. 

The Kingslayer struggled against their bonds, testing them. “Don't,” she said. “I already have.” He nodded and tried to see how far he might be able to pull their bodies apart. It only rubbed their bodies closer together. “See?” She shook her head. 

The men in the distance must have noticed the Kingslayer's wiggling. Their laughter grew and they began wondering aloud who was fucking whom. They both rolled their eyes and heads to hear. Brienne frowned and the Kingslayer gave an angry grimace that was hopefully not seen in the dark of night. 

He moved his hand then, resting between her breasts. “Kingslayer,” she whispered, “don't.” But he'd slipped his hand from the place they'd trapped it and moved it firmly onto one of her breasts. He cocked his head, his hand cupping her. 

“Don't worry your virtue is safe,” he said. He did stop moving his hand, but seemed unable to move it away. 

“Because I'm not a gorgeous lady you'd desire?” Her words should not have been so harsh, but it was hard to not put up her usual defenses given the closeness of him. 

He furrowed his brow, narrowed those red rimmed eyes. “Because I don't desire anyone, save Cersei,” he whispered the last, perhaps to keep the knowledge from their captors.

“None?” She raised an eyebrow. She had not really thought of men and any desires she might ever have for them. Why think things that would not occur? But, she knew enough that most men would be to her liking. 

“Not that I have not tried. Been to a brothel more than once with my brother, shown some lovely women. Women with --”

“I need not hear of their endowments.”

He gave a light chuckle. “Women most men would do anything for or to, and I...” He shrugged. She cocked her head. 

The Kingslayer shifted again. Brienne frowned at the action, then gasp. The palm of his hand rubbed against her breast. The movement sent a jolt deep into her belly and hardened her nipple against his palm. 

He tilted his head. “Is that?”

“Yes.” Brienne answered. 

He nodded, and then carefully shifted his hand to cup the side of her breast and leave the nipple merely trapped between their bodies. He narrowed his eyes. She was certain he would ask if his hand was the first besides her own to touch her there, the first to elicit such a response. If he thought or wondered such, he luckily did not speak it. 

“You should sleep,” Brienne said. “Tomorrow will be another long day.”

“Aren't they all.” He sighed and shifted a bit closer to her. “I'd rather not for a bit though. Hate the damn dreams the fever gives me.” 

Brienne rubbed her hands on his back. Closer to her now she could feel his fever even through their clothing. The rot of his severed hand and remaining wrist grew stronger. “Do not die on me Jaime Lannister,” she whispered into his ear. 

He scoffed and she felt the breath of it on her cheek. “Because then you can not exchange me for the Stark girls? I fear I am not worth the price of both of them anymore anyway.” He gave a light chuckle at his own joke. Brienne tilted her head to look at him clearer. How could he think himself somehow worth less because of his maiming?

“Because you saved me,” she whispered, “and I mean to repay that debt to you.” For he had saved her from rape and the death they'd likely give her in its stead. She did not know why he had done it, but he had. The saying was a Lannister always paid their debts, and she meant to make sure she did so with him. 

“You are.” He blinked at her with red rimmed and tired eyes. 

“Sleep,” she whispered into his ear. 

He sighed at that, and burrowed his face into the crock of her neck. “Been a long time since I've slept in a woman's arms.” 

His words tickled her skin and Brienne tried to ignore it. “You are only in my arms as I'm larger.” Which was saying something as the Kingslayer was a larger than average man. Yet, Brienne still stood a few inches taller and weighted at least a stone more, perhaps two with the wasting he'd done while captured. 

“You're soft enough for such a large woman though.” He sighed and slacked in her arms. Brienne ran her hands over his back. She could no longer see his face, just his mud covered golden hair. His breath deepened on her neck and his chest fell and rose slower against her own, until finally the Kingslayer drifted off to sleep. She could tell him she was kind now because she wished to repay him, but she knew there was more to it. 

#

Brienne paused in the hallway leading to the room the Kingslayer, Jaime, had been given in Harrenhal. Night had fallen, and she should be in her own room trying to get some sleep. A single guard stood outside the door. While Brienne was certain no one would let her leave the gates of Harrenhal, she had not been given a guard. She only wanted to make sure he was okay, that the fever had not taken him. He was no longer her charge it seemed, but she still found herself caring about him.

She moved forward to the door, knowing there would be no turning back once the guard saw her. It was easier than she thought to be allowed into the Kingslayer's room. It might have helped that the worn dress they had found from somewhere did not allow her to look as if she could hid anything dangerous. 

Brienne knocked and Jaime opened the door. He looked weak still, but smiled at her. The guard frowned, but let Brienne enter and close the door behind her. They were both cleaned now and the events of the bath still lingered in her mind, his story and why he might share it with her of all people, him fainting and no help coming for him. How she had washed his hair and face as he laid in her arms, then scrubbed the rest of him clean as he sat silent beside her. Should there have not been something sexual about doing all that with the both of them naked, flesh touching? 

“Wherever did they find that dress?” He scrunched his face up in disgust.

Brienne looked down at the faded pink dress that had been provided as 'appropriate' clothing for her. It smelt musty, hems ratted, embroidery dingy with wear. It came too high on her arms and left too much of her legs exposed. Having only a thin and worn underskirt to go with it, her legs were left almost bare up to her shortclothes. The low cut top showed off almost everything down to her lacking breasts. A matching pair of slippers a size too small had been provided as footwear. 

She scowled at his disgust. Before she could comment her own anger at being forced to wear the thing, Jaime continued, “Pink is really not at all your color. And the gown, if one could name it such, is big enough to fit an average man.” He cocked his head. “Makes you wonder which of Bolton's men might favor wearing a dress in private.”

Brienne furrowed her brow and looked down at the worn dress. She had not thought of who it might have belonged to, what other woman might have been large enough to manage it. “Do not think I wear it by choice,” she finally said. 

“Of course not.” Jaime crossed the room and sat down on the only furniture it contained, a pallet bed of straw. He lowered himself carefully upon it. He looked less pale, less fevered, but still weak. He was dressed in rags, perhaps new rags. His bandaged right arm rested in a sling against his chest. “However, if they were going to insist you wear a gown, what a horrid one to give you.”

“Likely the only one they had that would fit me.” Brienne followed and sat down beside him. It took her a moment to settle her dress such that she showed as little of her legs as possible to him.“How do you feel?”

“Is that why you came?” He glanced over at her. 

“Yes.”

“Not to talk of gowns?” He picked at some of the embroidery at the top, laid across her chest. 

Brienne frowned at him. “What do you know of gowns?” Not that she herself knew much about them. She hadn't worn them much since being a child, and then she'd always grown so fast they were too short and ill-fitting.

“Do you think I've never worn a gown before?” He scoffed. “This one has clearly not been taken good care of.”

She tilted her head. “Why would you have worn a gown... Jaime?” It felt old to speak his given name to him. “You're a man.”

That caused him to pause. He tilted his head, pinched his lips. “Cersei and I were mirror images as children, you've heard that one, right?” Brienne nodded. “She kept her hair short, me long and we would switch clothing some days,” he continued. “She would wear my pants and tunic and practice swords and riding. I would wear her gowns and do her needlework. I always put in extra flowers, if only because she hated it and could not very well remove them the day after.”

“You stitch?” Brienne furrowed her brow. It was not something she had never had a knack for and was thankful when her septa finally let her stop trying. Jaime shrugged. “I am sure you looked better in your sister's gowns doing needlework than I ever did.”

He chuckled and gave a smug smile. “Probably prettier too.”

“I am sure.” Brienne kept the frown from her face. His smile was not hurtful, did not call her ugly. Between the two of them, he was prettier. Had he not looked half a god in the bath today, even fevered and half dead?

“And the way those women would gossip while stitching.” He shook his head. “The nasty things women say when alone, about men, about each other.” He scrunched up his face. 

Brienne turned to catch his eyes and cocked her head. “I know how women can be.” Men you only had to knock and beat down. When she proved herself strong and a better fighter they sulked away to lick wounded egos, and while they might resent her they rarely challenged her again. Women, and girls, fought with words, kind words sometimes laced with ugliness underneath. It was a game Brienne had never been good at. 

Jaime watched her, perhaps waiting for more. “You know, their cutting words are because every woman thinks themselves ugly inside, thinks themselves not worthy of a handsome husband, or if they have a man thinks he will find a girl prettier than them.”

Brienne narrowed her eyes at him, stared back into his of blue. There was a lot of sense to his words. She had never really thought of it as such, never having been pretty she hadn't worried who in the room was less likely to win the favor of men.

“Me and Cersei sometimes still play at changing clothes,” he said, perhaps to lighten the mood. “My clothing sags a bit on her, and she straps my sword to her waist. I wear her gowns of velvet and lace.”

“Her gowns fit you?” Brienne cocked her head. She had never met his sister, but had never heard of the Queen being overly large.

Jaime shrugged. “I can't fit her corsets. But her gowns, if they have laces to be loosened or are belted, they fit in a manner.”

“Play at?” Brienne furrowed her brow. 

“Fuck,” he stated. “She as the --”

“I understand.” Brienne nodded. His sister as the man, and Jaime as the lady to be taken. Suddenly the image of a gown's thick underskirts surrounding his hardened cock came to mind. She averted her eyes and tried to not blush. “You enjoy that?” she asked instead. 

“Yes.” His face turned cold. “Go ahead, call me what you wish.”

“One could call you a deviant,” Brienne said. One? Her, she wondered?

Jaime's face grew angry and scrunched. His blue eyes, still red rimmed, narrowed. He cast his gaze to the dirty, bare floor. “Do you think I have any control over who I love, over what excites me?”

He was the one person she had here. A person who was increasingly important to her. Brienne shook her head. “I do not. Just as I do not have control over being so tall and large, over being as strong as most men, over being so plain of face.”

He lifted his eyes to her and his face softened a bit. 

“If we're arguing about this, you must be feeling better,” she said. 

“If I'm sharing this with you, I must still be fevered.” He frowned. 

Without thinking she reached up a hand and placed it upon his forehead. Jaime looked sharply at her, but did not pull away. “Perhaps you are still fevered.”

He cocked his head as she withdrew her hand. She wondered if he was going to mention the bath, what happened there. But he did not, and neither did she. 

“Stay,” he asked. 

Brienne tilted her head. “Stay?”

“Tonight.” His voice cracked and she couldn't really read the emotion in his eyes. “I just don't want to be alone.”

“You are surely not afraid of this room.” Her head tilted more. It was large with only a single fire lit in a bucket in the middle. Shadows hid the edges. Broken furniture lay about, dust and dirt. If they quieted they'd likely hear the scurry of critters small and not so small. Her room was much the same. 

He scoffed, shook his head. “No, not afraid, just...” He did not continue the thought, whatever his reason. 

“If I stay, the guard will know, what will people think?” she asked. 

He chuckled. “We both know what they'll think.” That they were romantically involved in the least, that he was bedding her at the worst. 

She frowned and shook her head. “I'm a maid.”

He nodded. “I made sure of that, didn't I?” He leaned closer, his eyes still rimed in red, and tired. “You know you are safe with me.”

Brienne nodded. He would not touch her, not harm her. She couldn't say the same of any other man in this place. “Yes. As you are with me,” she whispered. 

Jaime laid down on the pallet bed covered in straw then and drew the thin blanket over himself and opened it for her. “Plenty of room.” There was no smirk on his face, no mirth in his eyes, only need for company. 

“There is not, Jaime,” she stated. The bed would have been big enough for one of them, but not the bulk of them both. 

He rolled on his side and shifted to the far edge. “Please, Brienne. I'm so very tired, and alone I will get no sleep. Please.” His soft voice held such need she couldn't deny him. 

With a sigh, Brienne lay beside him. Her back to his chest. Jaime draped the thin blanket around them both, his hand rested across her waist, his right arm laid between them. She was bigger than him, yet still it seemed to work with her in his arm. It made her feel a lady, even if they were just companions, nothing more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for those enjoying this story. 
> 
> I assume here a night in Harrenhal between the bath scene and the one at the table with Bolton. Jaime kept getting too oversharing in this. And I can so see him the type of man okay with having worn a dress and doing womanly things, something he's not likely to admit to men, but would to Brienne as she's a woman.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the road back to King's Landing Brienne and Jaime learn of the fate of Robb and Catelyn Stark.

After that first night on the road from Harrenhal to King's Landing, Bolton's men basically left Brienne and Jaime alone. As if they were merely traveling companions, not captives. Perhaps at this point that's all they really were. She and Jaime sat in mostly comfortable silence as dark deepened. The food had been mostly dry tack , cheese and bread, but it'd been food. Her wounds from the bear had been well tended by Qyburn. Though her shoulder still ached. 

When Brienne laid out her bedroll for the night, Jaime had laid his next to hers. She raised an eyebrow. “I've enough honor left to let you be,” he said in reply. She huffed and lay down beside him. It had been easy to let the exhaustion of the last weeks, months really, take her into sleep. 

As dawn broke, she felt a hand on her, laid warm across her belly. A sigh sounded in her ears, and the hand, Jaime's, pulled her closer to him. She could smell sweat and a scent very much man from him. Another sigh and a puff of breath on her cheek sent a shiver through her. 

“Jaime.” He gave a snort. “Jaime.” He buried his face into her hair. “Jaime, wake up.”

He chuckled then. “Is the rest of the camp awake? Let me sleep a bit longer, dear lady.”

“Must you do it attached to me?” She frowned. 

He gave a single chuckle. “You're warm. Besides what man does not wish to wake with his arms around a woman?”

“Yes,” she whispered, “I am merely a replacement for your sister. Though I doubt a very similar one.”

He scoffed at that, pulled back to look into her eyes. “I have not awoken with Cersei in my arms since we were children.” Brienne tilted her head and while she did not speak, her eyes must have contained questions because Jaime continued. “How would we be a secret if it was found out I spent the night in her rooms? Truth, I think I have slept beside you more in the last month than her the last two decades.”

“Does that not bother you? Not being able to... have her like that.” Brienne frowned. 

“Of course.” He sneered. “But, if you love someone...”

“You take what you are allowed.” She nodded and sighed. Being Renly's Kingsguard had not been enough, had not been what she wanted, but it was what she'd had and she'd clung to it fiercely, she still did.

Jaime shrugged, a movement she felt more than saw, his arm still around her. The rest of the camp stirred. He gave a slight frown and rolled away from her. He sat up and made a production of stretching, his back and then both arms, even the shortened one. Brienne looked up at him. Handsome and fresh despite the common clothes and lank hair, the thick beard and thinned face. 

She sat up herself, a good companionly distance away from him. Because that's what they were correct, companions, friends. He dearly loved another, and she still loved Renly. What more could they ever be? Given their allegiances were on opposite sides, she wasn't even sure they could be companions.

#

They were only days out of King's Landing when they heard the news about the slaughter of the Starks by the Freys at the Twins. Of the death of Lady Catelyn, was all Brienne thought as the kind-faced innkeep told them the news as they packed up in the morning for another day's ride. So far during the trip Brienne and Jaime had rode beside each other, him increasingly lively and joking. 

Today, they rode in silence. Brienne sullen and upset, sure the scowl on her face had deepened. Jaime kept casting her glances. He moved his lips as if to speak a few times, but faltered and turned back to silence and looking at the road ahead. 

King Robb had crossed Walder Frey by marrying another besides his promised daughter. And Walder Frey was not a man to cross. But to murder the Starks after welcoming them to the hospitality of his keep, to murder them at a wedding. To then murder the celebrating Stark troops, gutting the army of the North. It was dishonorable enough to make Brienne retch. 

Bolton it was said had a hand in killing King Robb, had stabbed him himself. Was that the deal Bolton had made, to return Jaime and help Tywin Lannister kill the Young Wolf that had vexed him on the battlefield? Because while no one mentioned the Lannisters in the actions taken against the Starks, everyone knew the Lannisters were behind it. Had Jaime known? She slid her gaze to the man beside her, a man she had thought her friend. Had he had a hand in murdering her dear Lady Catelyn?

Her grief had turned to anger by the time they made camp that night. When Jaime sat beside her she scooted further from him. He frowned at that and cast a glance at the others traveling with them. 

“We both know who was behind the murder of the Starks, of Lady Catelyn.” She sneered at him. 

He gave a grimace. “Yes,” came his simple reply. “May I have a word alone with you, Lady Brienne?” He stood back up and tilted his head down to her. 

She didn't really desire to be alone with him, with a Lannister, but if she couldn't swing her sword at someone perhaps she could at least yell at someone. She stood and stalked towards the treeline and beyond, a scowl on her face. It surprised her no one did more than glance at them leaving. Bolton's men seemed fine with Jaime getting her anger instead of them. 

Brienne rounded on him just feet into the cover of trees. “The Freys are monsters for the abomination they did, and your father is a beast for giving the order.”

Jaime frowned. “Am I supposed to disagree with that?”

That sent her back a step. She cocked her head. “How could you have allowed such an order to be given then?”

Jaime furrowed his brow. “Do you think I knew any of it?” He shook his head. “Honestly, Brienne.”

Her scowl deepened and she tightened her lips. 

“Do you think Bolton would have trusted me with his betrayal?” Jaime continued. “Do you think my father would have even shared his plans with me? Do you think I am privy to his schemes?”

Brienne cocked her head further, blinked. 

“I am just one of my father's sword-arms, and not even that now.” He sighed and his gaze fell to his bandaged wrist hung at his chest. 

Jaime was his heir, his older son. She had assumed Lord Tywin discussed matters of the family with his grown son. 

“But he cares for you. He wanted you back. He made a deal with Bolton to get you back.” Brienne heard her anger return. 

Jaime scowled. “Tywin cares for nothing but the legacy he's building for the Lannisters. Me? I'm possibly his heir, someone who might further his legacy by siring legitimate grand-heirs.” His face fell a little, perhaps at speaking such a reality. “Tywin could not best Robb on the field of battle. Having the Freys slaughter him and his army was likely the most strategic move. And Tywin has no scruples, so would have thought nothing of the dishonor he asked another to do.”

Brienne swallowed and blinked. She had spent the day sure Jaime knew, sure Jaime would defend his father. “They were murdered. Murdered because your father could not win otherwise.” She spat the words. 

“They were betrayed and slaughtered.” Jaime nodded. “Yes.” He took a step away from her and frowned. “Likely they killed Robb, Catelyn's first born, before her eyes before slitting her throat.” His voice held such sureness at the vulgar action, Brienne could almost picture it, picture the anguish on her Lady's beautiful face. 

“Do you think I want to hear that?” Brienne's voice rose and her scowl deepened. 

Jaime shook his head. “No.”

“I should have been there with her.” Brienne felt tears coming to her eyes and fought them, not wanting Jaime Lannister to see her cry. “As her sworn sword I should have been there to protect her.”

“To be slaughtered with the rest.” Jaime scrunched up his face and shook his head. “What good would that do?”

“What good can I do her now?” Brienne frowned. “Now that she is....” She choked unable to say the last. Now that Lady Catelyn was dead. She was losing her battle to keep her tears from falling. 

Suddenly Jaime stepped closer and wrapped her up in his arms. His remaining hand lowered her head to his shoulder. Tears flowed from her eyes onto his shoulder, the crock of his neck. She heard the snuffled cries she made. Her shoulders shook. Jaime patted her back and whispered shushing noises into her ear. He'd certainly had practice at calming a crying woman before. 

Her tears finally left her enough Brienne raised her head to look at Jaime. She stood taller, so she had to tilt her head down to see his face, kindness on his handsome features. 

“Not the first time you have held a crying lady,” she stated. 

“I have a sister.” Jaime shrugged. “And a.... niece. Do you think King Robert was ever good at dealing with his crying daughter?”

You have a daughter, not niece, Brienne wanted to say, but did not. Instead she lowered her head back to Jaime's shoulder. Her tears were gone, but it was comforting to be held by him. He made her seem a lady, not the beast everyone thought her. 

“I am sorry, Brienne,” he whispered into her ear. Perhaps not sorry for being a Lannister, sorry for the horror his father had done, but he was sorry for her pain. 

“Do you remember your mother?” she found herself asking. 

Jaime drew back and tilted his head. “My mother? Yes, some. She was beautiful, like Cersei, but kind. She adored us, and Father loved no one in the world as much as her. Why?”

Brienne wondered how Jaime and his family may have differed had his mother lived. Would he have turned to his twin for comfort if he had the love of his mother? Would his sister supposedly so hate his brother? Would his father have respected his children more if he saw them through the eyes of the woman he loved?

Brienne raised her head. “I do not remember my mother. She died when I was very young from illness after childbirth. My newborn sister did not survive either. Lady Catelyn...” Her voice choked and she could not manage the rest. Lady Catelyn had been the kind and strong mother Brienne would have wished upon herself. 

“Was a good mother,” Jaime finished for her. “Catelyn was a good mother, a good wife, a good woman.” He gave a wane smile. “She hated me, and was much too cold and northern, but I respected her. She deserved any other death than that given her.”

Brienne narrowed her eyes and nodded. Yes, Lady Catelyn had been a good woman. A woman Brienne highly respected and admired. No one deserved what had befallen her, but it only made it worst to know what a good person Catelyn had been. 

“Come, let's get some food.” Jaime clasped her hand and took a step towards the camp. 

Brienne tugged his hand to pull him back into the trees further. “How should I avenge her?” She should not be asking this of him, because was it not the Lannisters, his house, who had wronged Lady Catelyn?

He cocked his head, paused. “You could return her beloved daughters to what family remains to them.” He titled his head. “Now, come and eat.” 

This time she followed him. They ate mostly in silence and Brienne was glad that Jaime had not filled it with any of his silly tales. When it came time for bed, Brienne moved to lay her bedroll near Jaime's. He instead moved his right beside hers and lay down to welcome her into his blankets. She cast a look over her shoulder. The men they traveled with already thought them possibly lovers. Such a move would not help the rumors. 

Instead of turning her back to him, Brienne somehow curled herself enough to fit her head tucked against his chest. His arms wrapped around her. She felt his lips give her forehead a soft kiss. Tears wet her eyes and she enjoyed the soft beating of Jaime's heart in her ears until finally sleep took her. 

#

Brienne awoke before dawn flickered through the clearing they'd made camp in. She drowsily realized the warmth around her was because of Jaime's body intertwined with her own. She had uncurled in her sleep and Jaime's head now rested on her meager breast. He gave a content snuff in his sleep and Brienne could not resist running her hand through his lanky tresses and down his back. 

Their legs were wrapped around each others. Jaime stretched and shifted against her as he awakened. Something hard moved against her upper thigh once and then twice before Brienne realized it was Jaime's cock, hardened. 

She swallowed and the knowledge of his arousal made something deep in her gut bubble up. “Jaime,” she sharply whispered into his ear before he could shift against her again. 

Jaime paused and opened his eyes to stare into her own. Intense emotions filled his blue eyes. Her heart sped up at the intensity he bestowed her. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled and shifted his hips away from her. Her arms still wrapped around him, his hand rested at her waist. “I... It's...” He frowned and closed his lips again. 

Brienne tried not to stare at his lips, tried not to think how they might feel against her own. Jaime Lannister was not interested in her. All he cared about was returning to his dear sister and lover. 

“Men have need...” she started for him, “for regular... release.” She had been in camps with men and knew such, had seen many a men doing such. 

“Release?” Jaime narrowed his eyes. Brienne opened her mouth, but he continued, “I know what you mean.” He swallowed. 

Brienne cocked her head. She knew men took themselves to hand for such release, some of them very often. She and Jaime had traveled closely for months now. When had he found time apart from her to do such? When she slept perhaps.

“Young men often awake with their... cocks... eager,” Brienne said, if only to explain why Jaime might have awoken such. Because she was an ugly beast of a woman and he only desired his sister. 

“Eager? Young men?” He chuckled softly at that. 

He dipped his eyes from her face. That only meant he stared instead at her breasts. Brienne's chest rose and fell with the emotion shooting through her. Silly emotions from a silly girl, she chided herself. Jaime raised his face back up but with his eyes closed. A deep sigh escaped his lips. 

“Thank you,” Brienne said. His eyes shot open. “For yesterday, your kindness.”

Jaime nodded and blinked, his brow furrowed. At least they were no longer talking about cocks. “I am sorry Catelyn is dead.”

“I know.” 

They still lay in each others arms, a bit more comfortable now. Brienne felt her nervousness from him being so close, from his arousal, abating. 

“You're large, Brienne, and strong and not gorgeous.” Jaime titled his head. “But you do have enough curves to make a man happy.” His face softened, his eyes filled with a kindness. “You are not ugly or a beast, Brienne, and don't believe people when they call you either.” 

She tightened her lips. “What would you know of such?” What did Jaime Lannister, gorgeous god-like Jaime, know about being ugly or a beast? She saw how people fawned over his looks, even she herself did so. 

“I know what people think when they call me Kingslayer.” He scowled. “Is that not the same?”

“It bothers you when people call you Kingslayer?” She frowned at him. 

“Let it bother you, but don't ever believe it.” He scrunched up his face, the way he did when something disgusted and bothered him. 

Easier for him to say than for her heart to feel. His eyes flicked above her. Behind them came the sounds of others waking. 

Jaime dipped his face closer until his lips almost touched her ear. He whispered, breath hot on her cheek, “My arousal was because of you Brienne.” Jaime rolled away from her. “Don't believe them,” he repeated as he sat up. 

Brienne stared up at him, handsome, lovely Jaime Lannister. A god among men who could have any woman he wished. A man who had just admitted he desired her. She blinked, furrowed her brow as he stretched and then stared down at her with a soft smile on his lips. 'Don't believe them,' his words echoed in her mind again. Don't believe herself an ugly beast because this great man desired her, could not others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The middle of this does not quite fit with the theme I was going for with the scenes, but was how it worked out to have a conversation between them about the Red Wedding.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne return to King's Landing.

Brienne lay on her bedroll beside Jaime. Night here was not as quiet as it had once been. Ahead on the horizon rose the great city of King's Landing. A place Brienne herself had never been, only heard about, and often not kind things. 

“You'll be home tomorrow,” she told him. 

Jaime scoffed. Brienne turned her head to look over at him. Jaime lay on his back, gaze on the stars in the clear sky above. “All I have thought of every night since I was captured was getting back... to her.” He sighed. “We've always been mirror images, me and Cersei.”

Brienne frowned. “She's a woman, Jaime. You can't be complete mirror images.”

He turned to look her in the eye, blinked, furrowed his brow. “She is what I would be as a woman, and I what she would be as a man.” Brienne had never met his sister so could not argue about such. He sighed and glanced down at his right arm laid across his chest. “But I'm not a mirror image of her now, am I?” She could hear the sorrow in his voice, wondered how much of it touched his face. In the light of day Jaime would not speak these words, would not risk anyone seeing that sorrow. 

“It is just a hand, Jaime.”

“It was never just a hand.” He shook his head. “I am not that arrogant fool who rode out of King's Landing more than a year ago. I don't know what man I am, but I am no longer that man.”

“Perhaps you are a better man?” Brienne herself hoped that, had even seen evidence of it. 

“They don't need a better man.” Anger rose in his voice. “Do you think my sister and father want a better man?” He turned to her, his face scrunched in the anger his voice held. “They want a man who...” Whatever evil deed he was to tell her about paused on his lips. Jaime turned back to gaze above him. “Not that it matters, I can not do such deeds anymore. I can't be their protector. I couldn't raise fear in people by just a smirk and threatening word.”

“You are still an able man.” Brienne glanced over at him with concern, fearful he would slip back to the despair that followed his injury. 

“Yes.” He shrugged. “But, I am not the man they want back.” She saw him visibly swallow in the wane light of night. 

“They love you though.” She tilted her head. They were family, of course they loved him, would accept him for who he was now, eventually at least. 

Jaime chuckled. “Love me?” He shook his head. “Tyrion loves me. Cersei... I don't know.” The woman he had spoken of such love for? Brienne could not imagine his sister not returning his love and devotion. “My father I know does not love me.” He turned to face her then. “He loves having an heir. He loves the golden lion I was. He loves the thought I will become the man he wants to continue his legacy.” He shook his head with a frown. “But he does not love me. I have known that for a very long time.”

“They still want you back.” Brienne stared at him, meeting his dark blue eyes in the night. 

“They want who I was back.” Jaime frowned deeper. “That man will never return from the Riverlands.” He sighed and cocked his head. “Your father loves you.” A statement not a question. 

“Yes.” Brienne narrowed her eyes. “How would you know?”

“What lord allows his only daughter and heir to not marry, lets her travel as a knight, wear a sword and armor made for her,” Jaime said, and Brienne frowned, “if he does not accept who she is and love her despite it?”

She kept her eyes on his. There was fatherly knowledge in his words she had not thought he would have. Jaime had no wife, no rightful children. 

“Yes, my father loves me, and I love him.” Brienne tightened her lips. “It has been only the two of us for... quite awhile.” Since her mother and brother died, most of her childhood. Her father had taken women, she knew of this, but never married another. And so in the end it was just the two of them.

“He would love and accept you no matter how you might return to him?” Jaime cocked his head. 

Brienne thought of the worst of ways she could return to Tarth. Maimed or scarred, tortured by what she had seen, changed by what she had done, a bastard in her belly from rape. But, Brienne nodded, because she could still see her father's strong arms wrapping around her in love and relief that she had returned to him. 

“He would,” she answered with a nod. 

Jaime nodded in reply and smiled. 

Brienne shifted closer to him and leaned until she was only an inch away. “Do you love your children, Jaime?” she whispered.

His eyes snapped to her, and she recognized fear in them, fear that she had spoken aloud using pronouns that named his children as his. He swallowed. Without moving his head, he glanced all around the camp. Finally he leaned closer, spoke even softer. “Of course I love my children. Why do you think I've harmed to protect them? Why do you think I keep them such a secret?” 

Brienne had already known the answer if she'd thought about it. Jaime loved his family, as dearly as she loved her father. “Won't they be happy you're back?”

He leaned a bit away and gave a half-frown. “I'm just Uncle Jaime.” He almost spit out the word uncle. The title Jaime made sure they thought him as so that he could protect his children he loved. 

Brienne wanted to apologize that he had to do that, that he could not be a father to them, that his sister had put him in the situation at all. But she did not say the words. 

Jaime rolled away, back to his back. “Maybe we can not speak of my family... it's depressing.” She did not see but knew what disgust filled his face. 

“Tell me about King's Landing?” Brienne offered. 

“That's actually depressing as well.” He turned and propped himself up on his right arm. “Tell me about Tarth.”

“Tarth?” She tilted her head. 

“Surely that's not depressing.” He cocked his head, kept a smirk from his face. 

Brienne rolled to her side to face him. “No.” She missed her little island home, more so than she thought she would when she'd left it for Renly. Of course, Jaime had never been there, a tiny island with a lesser lord of the Stormlands. “Called the sapphire isle for its gorgeous blue waters.” She tilted her head at possibly the only thing Jaime did know about Tarth, save her father's sigil and name. Jaime smiled at her for what might have oddly become a joke between them. It strengthened her to continue and tell him the rest about her beloved home. 

#

When they arrived in King's Landing and then the Red Keep, there had been a brief audience before Jaime's father Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King. They looked like paupers, certainly not the lordly knight Jaime really was, the high-born daughter she was. Jaime had sworn by her, said she was no threat and that he owed her his life. While she was shown her quarters, Jaime left to return to his sister. He gave her wane smile as he turned to elsewhere in the Red Keep. 

“I wish you luck, Jaime,” Brienne softly said. 

He nodded and swallowed. “I may need it.” Then he was gone. 

They gave Brienne a room in the Maiden Tower. Although she had been informed that the name did not mean the residents were maidens, as much as unaccompanied women that visited the capitol. She'd cocked her head at that, for was she not known as the Maid of Tarth? 

Brienne sat on the bed, a narrow thing and almost too short for her length. Women were generally much smaller than herself. There was a small desk with a low chair. It all made her feel a giant oaf of a woman. The servants had gotten her a bath and 'appropriate' clothing, a gown of green that was of course too short, although not low cut and in very good condition. 

With a sigh, Brienne stood and looked out the single window to the city below. The hour was late but the glow of lanterns and candles in windows still lit the landscape. It spread for almost as far as she could see, the great city of King's Landing. It made her long for the short walls and simple construction of Evenhall, her home, someplace she was not certain she would ever see again. 

A knock came at the door and Brienne cocked her head. She crossed to open it sure of the only person she could have found there. Jaime smiled, paused for her to step aside for him to enter. He had bathed, and had cut his matted locks, his shortened hair surprisingly dark in color. He'd also had his entire beard shaved down to clean skin. He wore a simple blue shirt and tight leather pants in a tan color. How had Brienne thought him handsome before? 

Jaime gave a cocky smile, perhaps knowing what effect his new look had. “I clean up well, don't I?”

Brienne nodded. “You shaved the beard.”

“Yes.” He surveyed her small room. “Perhaps a mistake, I miss it. I come bearing gifts.” He motioned with his right arm where a pile of clothing was tucked against his chest. Brienne took the pile from him. He turned and used his feet to kick out the small chair and sit in it. It was low enough his knees come up higher than the chair's seat. 

Brienne did not thank him for having sat in the chair, she'd hate to see how silly she looked in it. She sat opposite him on the bed. 

“Pants and shirt.” Jaime leaned back and tilted his head to give her gown a good look. “Although this gown's much better, the style is more you even if the fit is worse.”

“Whose clothes?” Brienne cocked her head. They were well made she noted. 

“Mine.” Jaime shrugged. “They should fit well enough. I'll return in the morning and take you to a dressmaker, an affordable man, to have something you'll find more comfortable made for you.”

Brienne nodded. “Thank you.” She laid the clothing in her lap and placed her hand atop it. She was larger than Jaime but he was correct his clothing should fit her and she'd feel much more comfortable in this foreign city in them than the given dress. 

“I also bring wine.” Jaime held up a wineskin. His right arm lay in his lap, the bandage peeking from the empty sleeve. 

“I have no glasses to serve it in.” Brienne tilted her head. 

Jaime shrugged and one-handed took off the lid and downed a big gulp. Then he leaned across to hand the skin to her. Brienne tightened her lips and took a sip. 

“How did it go... with Cersei?” Brienne asked, surprising herself she spoke his sister's name. 

Jaime shook his head, scoffed, did not actually speak. “Give her time,” Brienne said. Jaime tightened his lips into exasperation. Within just the day he'd transformed himself back, save the hand, to the man who'd left Cersei a year ago. Of course that was for his dear sister and lover. 

“While I was gone, she'd made me Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,” he said. 

“Congratulations.” 

Jaime frowned. “Lord Commander and I can't wield a sword.” 

“Then practice.” She tilted her head. 

He gave her that exasperated look like she saw the world too simply. She passed the wineskin back and he took another deep gulp. Brienne was not sure what she was supposed to say next. It was not just them anymore, not even just them against others. Instead she was alone in a large city of corruption. 

“What of your promise to Lady Catelyn?” she finally asked. 

Jaime pinched his lips. “I'll find out what I can about the Stark girls. It's barely been twelve hours.” He let out a deep sigh. “Give me some time, Brienne.”

He looked weary then and fearful, of his new place, of returning to his old life. He was right, he needed time to settle back in, to get reacquainted. Brienne gave a single nod. “Of course.” 

“Coming back is always worse than being away.” He took a quick sip and passed the wine back to Brienne. 

She narrowed her eyes at that, because his words held experience. “You've been away as long before?” This time Brienne took a deep sip of the wine, ran it around her mouth before swallowing. It was good wine, expensive despite being served from a common wineskin. 

Jaime shook his head. “No. There hasn't been a real war since Robert's Rebellion, much to poor Robert's dismay.” 

He lounged down in the chair and spread his legs out across the floor between them, his crossed feet almost touching her boots. How did he always make existing seem so casual? Even at her most relaxed Brienne was stiff and awkward. 

“It's a decent room.” Jaime's remaining hand played with his empty right sleeve. “Got a real bed.” 

“Yes.” Brienne handed the skin back to Jaime and leaned back on the bed. It would be nice to be in a real bed again. She had not slept in a good proper bed since leaving Evenhall. 

“When I was gone Cersei had all my stuff moved into the Lord Commander's chambers in the White Tower.” He took a sip of wine, frowned. “It's a rather huge, greatly ornate place. Empty, quiet.” 

“You can not stay here.” Brienne tried to make her voice firm, her face solid. Although, it would be nice to not be alone in this new place. She would miss him beside her tonight. 

Jaime chuckled. “No.” He looked at her, pinched his lips and she almost thought he might still ask to stay, thought she'd agree if he did. Then he sighed and shook his head. “No, I can not.” He looked up at her boring stone ceiling. “I'll just have to lay in my huge bed and spend the sleepless night looking up at the high gilded ceiling.” Brienne hoped his words were in jest, but she realized they may very well be the truth. Her face tugged into a frown. 

Jaime sat up and passed back the skin. Brienne had to tip it up a good deal to take in a nice gulp of the wine. 

“Why would the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, sworn to celibacy, need such a large bed?” He cocked his head. 

“Are most Kingsguard really celibate?” Brienne tilted her head. A few months ago she would have thought that of course they were, knights honored their vows and oaths. Now, she reasoned that most were more like Jaime, honoring what oaths they could manage. 

Jaime smiled at her joke, or perhaps her lessened innocence. “Most only use a whore, on occasion.” He smirked. “Although Selmy Barristan, the last Lord Commander, was certainly celibate.” 

Brienne narrowed her eyes and wondered how one could tell that about a man. “Why are you not with you family?” she asked instead, suddenly struck by the thought that he'd picked her to visit tonight, not his sister or brother or father or 'nephews'.

“Not tonight.” He shook his head and leaned it back, resting it on the back of the chair. He closed is eyes. “Maybe not tomorrow either.” He let out a sigh. “I've seen enough of their disappointment for the day.”

His head tipped forward and his eyes bore into hers with an intense look. “Because you...” Brienne kept her face solid even though her heart sped up at his look. “'It is only a hand',” he said, echoing back her own words and surprisingly her tone. 

“It is,” she found herself whispered. 

He let out a shaky sigh. “Hopefully one day I will feel the same.”

“Hopefully you will.” Although she had to wonder herself if he would allow himself to do so. His intense gaze had not left her. It warmed something inside her. “It will never again be... like it was... between us?” In some ways their travels had been the worse days in her life, and yet she could see herself longing for them back if only to have him back. She shivered at his silence. 

Jaime frowned and opened his mouth more than once, only closing it again. He swallowed and finally he managed to shake his head, not even wording the answer, 'no.' His gaze fell to a spot on the floor. For a time they sat in silence. 

Then, Jaime pushed himself up and sat beside her on the bed. His hand fell to hers resting on his clothes still in her lap. He had the intense look back, his eyes a darkened bluish green. She noticed his chest struggling as much for breath as she knew her own was. His hand cupped her cheek and she resisted leaning into the warmth it held. He swallowed, his gaze on her lips and she wondered if he meant to kiss her, she reveled in the thought of his lips against hers. Instead, Jaime tilted his head and kissed her cheek, high enough she could feel his breath against her ear. He pulled back and away from her, his hand falling. 

“I...” He stood and sighed. “I should be leaving.”

Brienne cocked her head, not sure what existed in his thicker voice. She nodded. “Yes.” She handed up the wineskin. 

“Keep what's left.” He waved his hand and took a step backwards towards the door. “I'll be by in the morning.” She cocked her head. “The dressmaker,” he said. 

“Yes.” She nodded. Her heart pounded in her chest and she wondered what he would do if she rose and crossed to him. But, he was a gorgeous man, had a lover, what did he want with a silly maid the size of a lumbering giant?

Jaime turned and moved to the door. He paused as he reached it, turned his head back to her. His mouth opened again. Brienne could see the words on his lips, perhaps even words forming in his head. He tightened his lips though and said none of them. He turned back to the door and opened it. “Goodnight, Brienne,” he said as he dipped his head and left. 

Brienne placed the clothing and wineskin on the desk, barely having to rise from the bed to manage it. She swallowed and tried to still her heart. He had saved her, he had changed her, she owed him a debt she could never really repay. She lay back on the bed and looked at the blank stone ceiling above. Fear clenched in her gut at the intense emotions rolling through her. He had gone back to his life and in far too quick a time she would returned to hers, and as the world worked their paths were likely to never meet again. They and their time in the Riverlands would simply become a memory, a fondness to think of when the night got too lonely, nothing more. Brienne did not notice she was crying until a tear slid down the side of her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not presented in such modern terms in the show but Jaime is a prisoner of war and a solider returning home. And that's how I tried to play this chapter. 
> 
> Jaime had no words for what passed between him and Brienne, not surprising as he still doesn't have a lot by season 6. This story has been all Brienne POV but I'm going to add a short epilogue of Jaime POV so we get his thoughts, since we didn't get his words. 
> 
> Still not sure how happy I really am with this ending, but the point of the story was their time in the Riverlands, and that ends with their return to King's Landing.


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue of Jaime's POV after he and Brienne have returned to King's Landing.

Jaime lay back in the large extravagant bed. The bedding was fine silks in clean white with gold designs. He chuckled again thinking why the Lord Commander needed such. Only a few candles still burned, casting a faint light in the cavernous room. Ornate gold designs, the crown sigil of the Kingsguard repeating many times, covered the white ceiling above. Had Brienne believed him when he'd said this is how he would spend his night, likely until dawn light filtered through the arched windows? He japed enough that people rarely believed his words to be the full truth. Maybe he should count all the crowns, something to pass the empty time. 

He'd been away from King's Landing for a few shorter campaigns, nothing that lasted more than a few months, nothing he had not returned victorious from. He and Cersei had been otherwise parted before too. Just after childhood when he'd gone to squire at Crakenhall, after Father had resigned as Hand of the King and returned with Cersei to Casterly Rock, and just after her marriage to Robert when she wanted to actually try to love the new King. None of them compared. It was as if King's Landing had plodded along as always while Jaime had moved tangential, away from his life here, away from Cersei even. 

And Brienne... A curious mix of a blushing maid and noble knight in that large, strong slightly feminine body of hers. King's Landing was not a place she belonged with its lies and deception, false faces and schemes. She did none of that well. Jaime swallowed. He knew how to exist in the Red Keep, had done so for most of his adult life. But all he'd wanted today was her honesty and righteousness, scowls for anger, wide eyes for surprise. 

Instead, he'd gotten his father's blank face as he only once glanced at Jaime's damaged arm, not even anger or pity in those sharp eyes. He'd gotten Cersei's disgust, quickly hidden by a smile that her anger seethed beneath, and her quick dismissal of him to get cleaned, showing her horror at being in his maimed presence. Perhaps Tyrion will be better, but today Jaime couldn't have stood for the pity those smart green eyes would show him, from his brother, the dwarf. 

Jaime let out a deep sigh and stared above at the shadowed ceiling. He was practiced at spending time with his mind blank while boredom encircled him. Guarding doors for decades did that to a man, made his mind able to wile away long hours as empty as this cavernous room. If only his damned mind would actually follow his desires and empty. Instead it echoed with all her words, curse the seven. 'You saved my life.' 'It's only a hand.' 'Perhaps a better man.' 'It will never again be like it was?' How was he to have answered that? They would both move on, part ways and likely never see each other again soon enough. But that part of themselves they lost in the Riverlands would remain, connecting them, until they both drew their last breaths. 

If he closed his eyes he could hear her call his name, 'Jaime,' could see her face, features softened by kindness and almost pretty. He could forget she was larger than him, stronger than him, could instead bask in her stubborn nobility. He wasn't that better, honorable man she wanted him to be, but curse the seven, his heart ached to be that man for her. But he was just Jaime Lannister, Kingslayer, oathbreaker, a man without honor. A broken knight, behanded and left a cripple now. And no silly maid playing at being a knight could change that, no matter how much he ached to prove her right. 

Jaime opened his eyes and blinked back the wetness in them. His gaze moved to the upper right corner and he began to count crown sigil. He didn't want to think about how many times and how many nights he would have to count them before Brienne to Tarth finally slipped his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This could easily continue on with two other stories of mine. "A Few Moments, Nothing More," and "Foolish".


End file.
